


Madness of Duke Thancred

by Kosho



Series: A Series of One-Shots Based On Songs [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Final Fantasy XIV, Vocaloid
Genre: Based on a Vocaloid Song, Dark Magic, Deal with a Devil, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Music, Magic, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6540055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosho/pseuds/Kosho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based entirely on this song:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnrvTeSswqU </p><p>Madness of Duke Venomania is one of my favorite Vocaloid songs, and this cover is just amazing ;~;. I know the subject matter is a little iffy, but I needed to do this. Aside from the lack of names, it works. </p><p>The Duke is surprised to find his nearest and dearest friend on his doorstep, unwilling to wait a moment longer to have her. Meanwhile, in a neighboring village, a man vows to do whatever it takes to rescue his wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness of Duke Thancred

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, trigger warning: Rape/Non-con

_Another day, another list. The names, ages, occupations of women who had vanished growing longer. Pages of papers tacked to the board in the town square. Long past horror, most just passed it by, shaking their heads sadly as the strode busily to wherever they were heading. The look of silent prayers that they themselves wouldn’t be next, their wives, daughters, nieces wouldn’t be the next to vanish._

He sat back in his high-backed chair, fingers idly fondling the cravat fixed around his throat, icy eyes falling on the women scattered in his ballroom, some at his feet, another massaging his hand. He had traded away his very soul for this gift, the ability to entrance and charm any woman to his side, they threw themselves at him, desperate for the tiniest hint of affection from him. A knock at the door called his attention away, rising to stand, women crawling after him until he bade them to stop, which he did. He wanted to know what lovely maiden had made her way to his mansion, lured by the spell. Opening the door, he halted a moment, staring at her in stunned silence, a girl he recognized very well. Friends for as long as he could recall, he quickly stepped aside, letting her in. Gods, how he dreamed of this moment, his chance had come after so long. He gripped her wrist, pulling her into his arms, adjusting again to drape an arm around her waist, the other threading through the silky locks he had only dreamed of. Taking a deep breath, the scent of lavender in her hair was a tease, slow steps marking the beginning of the now familiar routine. It always went this way, starting with a dance, and ending in the shaking moans of ecstasy in his bed. He had wanted this, wanted to make her his, for so long, he vowed to make it markedly perfect for her.

_Even as they danced, he couldn’t escape the remnants of the past, the old ‘him’, before this gift. No matter what he did, how hard he had tried to fit in, he couldn’t escape the ridicule, even she, his one and only friend, the one woman who truly mattered to him couldn’t avoid laughing at him from time to time. The things she did to try and help him fit in better only serving to ramp up the torment. That was the life he so desperately ran from, what ultimately led him to seek his vengeance in this manner. Though even in his wildest fantasies, he never imagined she would show up at his doorstep. Spell or not, he could almost convince himself it was fate, she was absolutely destined to be with him._

* * *

 

_Concern, that was the feeling. His wife had set off days ago, bound for the market in the next town over. It should only have taken a few hours at most, and yet she never returned. He flicked through the ever expanding list of missing women, a pang of guilt when her name was now on the list. There had to be someone, anyone that knew something, some place he could begin searching for her. She was too strong, too pure to be dead, there was no righteous force in this world that would let her be taken by darkness. If nothing else, the local tavern would serve as a fine place to begin, rumors and stories traded over mugs of ale, though most were easily written off, not all were absent of truth._

* * *

 

For the first time in so long, he felt something, his heart pounding uncontrollably as he led her up the stairs towards his room, cries of protest following him as he held her hand. He glanced back, frowning deeply.

“Silence!” he barked.

They listened, of course they did. How could they do anything but when he was guaranteed obedience from them? He drew her hand to his lips, gently brushing a kiss against the warm tan skin. He urged her through the door, uncontrollably eager to make her his, to fulfill the dreams and fantasies he entertained. There was no reason to be concerned, to usher her so quickly to his bed, and yet every fiber in his being begged him to. He set her on the edge of the bed, glad that he had at least obtained fresh, never before touched sheets just that morning, she deserved to be the first – the only woman to christen them. He sat next to her, turning her to look at him, capturing her lips in a crushing kiss, tongue sneaking through to dance with hers, to taste what he had longed for, all these years. Deftly working at unfastening her blouse, he slid it off, not leaving the warmth of her lips as he searched for the clasp of her bra. Her hands reached up, cupping his jaw, a silent instruction to stay with her, freeing her from the trappings of cloth, less elegant than she deserved. When he finally parted from her, it was to explore the slim curve of her neck, to nip at her throat, eliciting a sigh from her, a hand coming to rest on her breast, too tempting to resist, lightly pulling at her nipple.

“Tonight will be the most thrilling of your life…” he promised, a husky whisper uttered against her neck.

“Yes, my lord…” she answered softly.

It made him flinch, knowing it had been a long shot, but had still held the false hope that she would call him by name, beg him to stop teasing her. It was fine, this was bound to be the first of many trysts with her, and he wouldn’t so easily abandon that particular daydream. He left her side, long enough to unbutton the finely decorated coat, dropping it carelessly to the floor, almost lunging at her in his hunger. She fell back against the bed, and despite full eagerness to have her, he _needed_ this, a full experience, to have everything she had to offer before he would take her. He hurriedly slid a hand under the bands of her skirt, bypassing her panties. Gods, she was already wet, slick, for him, and the cry she offered was like a prayer for him to touch her, feel how badly she wanted him. He would be crazy not to, and he had no plans to stop, fingers gliding easily against her core, circling slowly, waiting until he pried a shudder. When she gave that sign, he pressed a digit into her, almost lovingly, a second following soon after. He rested against her, pressed against her leg, licking his lips as he went for a nipple, biting lightly, tongue, teeth and mouth working together. She was trembling perfection, arching and panting as he upped his pace, the warmth too enticing, eager to feel her release at his masterful technique. She pressed into his touch, writhing underneath him, the way her body tensed signaling just how close she was, pounding harder into her, as if to prepare her for what was to come later in the night. She groaned loudly, and he could feel it, the trickling warmth he had wanted so badly. Withdrawing his fingers from her, he paused to examine them, watching the nervous expression on her face as he brought them to his mouth, interested in knowing just how she tasted. Far from disappointing, he needed more, pausing to unbutton his trousers, urging them down, sighing softly at the slight relief it offered.  
  
“Don’t worry, darling, it’s not time for that just yet…” he assured her.

Hooking her skirt and the thin fabric of her panties, he tugged them down and off in one easy motion, inhaling sharply as he took in the full picture of her, naked on his bed. The one and only time he could recall reality being better than the dream. He knelt at her feet, hands on her thighs, parting them, he bent lower, bringing her legs to rest on his shoulders, his fingers once more tracing the quivering, wet skin. His tongue flickered against her, and she gasped, exploring every precious inch, dipping into her for a moment, as if mapping her out in his mind. So little prompting and she was already rocking her hips against him, her breath catching and stuttering out with every slow twist of his tongue, blowing coolly against the trail of saliva left against her, another shiver being his reward. As he worked to please her, he imagined her reactions were completely her own, willfully urging him on, that every sigh and moan was hers. By now he had firmly convinced himself that this was intended for him, no result of a spell, she _wanted_ him, needed him in the same way. Once more, he slipped his fingers in, opposite the rhythm his tongue followed, intending to overstimulate her until she tumbled over the edge. Confident he could already read her well enough, he meant to get her there, and replace the firm sensation of his hands with his mouth, to drink her in, symbolic of how he wanted to become one with her. He could tell she was close, easily slipping in and out now, twisting his hand away, swapping places with his mouth, moaning louder now when it hit her. When he was certain he had managed to get every last bit, he pulled away, the back of his hand hiding his lips, swallowing. He brought her legs down from his shoulders, standing again to remove the last remaining bit of clothes, thick shaft bobbing as the fabric slid away. He grinned, staring down at her, wetting his lips, reminiscent of a wolf before a pen of sheep.

“What do you think?” he growled.

Her cheeks stained a radiant pink, she squirmed nervously, as if intimidated, though she didn’t say anything right off.

“I think you’re wonderful, my lord…” she purred out.

Despite the formality, he was still firmly convinced her response was genuine, a thought which pleased him greatly. Spreading over her, he reached for her hands, crossing them above her head, easily gripped in one of his. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he bit firmly, hard enough to leave a trail of red marks, searching for her lips once more, crushing, scraping, biting, devouring her, bruising her lips in his desire. Aching for her, uncertain he could wait any longer to feel her, he gripped her thigh, spreading her legs once more, pressing against her. Even after prepping her, it was a challenge to gain entry, slowly filling her inch by inch until he could go no further, her soft whimpering protests inciting no small amount of pride.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice deepened with lust for her.

“A little…” she admitted quietly.

“It won’t for very long.” He said.

Drawing his hips back at the start of a slow, gentle pace, intended more to enjoy how she felt, but equally so to avoid inflicting pain on her. Through the many dozens of women he had been with, he couldn’t recall any one of them feeling this good, even accounting for how meaningful she was to him, it was a different experience entirely. Picking up the pace now, he groaned, his hand sliding up her leg, squeezing her ass as he guided her against him, grinding into her harder, unable to maintain restraint. The way she struggled against his grip, in his mind said she was dying to touch him, and he almost wanted her to, except for the way she looked under him, swaying and writhing, pulling harder against his tight grasp. Bucking harder against her, lifting her with every full thrust, a shudder tore through his spine, and he knew that he couldn’t possibly hold forever, the very act of pleasuring her serving to work him up. Assured that he would have plenty more chances to do so, confident that he could keep her screaming all night long before wearing her out too much to continue.

“How does it feel, my princess?” he panted out.

“It feels unlike anything else, my lord…” she whimpered, nervously licking her lips.

Her whole body drew tight, tensing again in the now familiar way that told him she was close. Slamming into her then, he shuddered, feeling the way she squeezed him, trapping him inside her, a shiver cutting through her when she let go. He leaned in again, nipping at her throat.

“Good girl…” he praised, his breath heavy.

Holding her down harder, his muscles clenched, overtaken by the sensations mixing throughout him. Chest heaving, he came, feeling it spill out of her, the first time he could recall any woman causing him to do so. Resting against her until the last spasms washed away, he sighed, letting her hands free, staring into her eyes. So much he had wanted to say, all gone, though he supposed it could wait. She was his, and even had she not felt the same, though he was positive she had to, his spell was unbreakable, and she had no say to resist him. Freeing himself from her, he moved to sit up, scraping a hand through sweat soaked ash blonde locks. Perhaps some wine, then a bath, and he might be ready to have her again, the mere thought of her finally being so close driving him crazy.

* * *

 

_A full week passed before he had gleaned the information he so desperately sought. A mansion, the next town over, the owner said to be a man with a way with women. No men ever allowed past the gates, much less the front door. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that had to be where she was, perhaps held against her will. Many men had apparently tried to break through, to fight their way in, looking for lost loved ones, only to barely escape with their own lives. For that reason alone, had he been forced into this ridiculous position, certain that it wouldn’t ever work in the first place, but for her, he had to try. Despite never having done something like this for himself, he had seen her do it enough that he had a basic concept. Smoothing out the front of the elaborately decorated dress, lent to him by another man, begging him to return his lover to him if he could. Fingers twisting through the golden blonde curls, a wig, of course, the hair coming down between his shoulders and down the front of his chest. The stubble would have been a dead giveaway, shaving it off and applying a thick, yet somehow convincing layer of makeup. Hard to move in the thick bunches of fabric, too tall already for heels, he settled on flat boots, buttoning the cuffs, fine white gloves finishing the look. Examining himself in the mirror, he was satisfied, the general consensus being that he actually made a lovely, if oddly tall woman._

“I’ll give you a ride to the mansion, I wish you luck, for all our sakes.” His new ally said, preparing the carriage for travel.

* * *

 

Gathered once again in the ballroom, he perched her on his lap, his prize, the trophy he had so thoroughly enjoyed, the rest of the women cast aside in favor of her, another knock on the door once more making him curious. Pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, he patted her hip, waiting for her to move.

“Stay here, darling. I’ll come back.” He told her.

She said nothing, watching him walk away in the same way the rest watched him. Opening the door, a playful blonde caught his gaze. Beautiful, the dress complimenting her looks. He was loath to leave his friend, now his lover, but he had a reputation to uphold, bowing deeply as he reached for her hand. She accepted with a soft giggle, allowing him to pull her against his chest. A hand softly drawing through her curls, they danced slowly, circling the checkered floor, curious about her sudden smile. Pain tore through his chest, glancing down as she pulled away from him, bleeding thickly through his vest, bright crimson, though it slowly turned a deep shade of purple. Looking back, he wrenched the wig off, short blonde waves and piercing amber eyes stared coldly at him as he held the dagger out in front of him. Falling to the floor, blood-stained hands sweeping across the floor, watching as his harem came to their senses, rushing out, screams of panic accompanying their exodus. Tears streaking down, a side effect of how badly it hurt, he gasped. Yuuki paused in the doorway, turning back to look at him for a passing instant.

“Don’t go…” he whispered, unable to do more.

_‘I haven’t even said I love you...’ he thought._

The man ran to meet her, fingers slipping between hers as they left, returning to the carriage waiting by the imposing wrought iron gates.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

He could see no actual wounds, aside from the bruises and red marks along her skin, though her sudden sobbing meant that she was definitely in pain, ushering her into the carriage, she refused to look back as they rode away, curled against him, balling her hands in the fabric of the dress he wore. He held her closely, simply glad he had managed to get her back, regretfully too late to prevent any harm coming to her.

“I swear; I won’t ever fail you again…” he vowed.


End file.
